


(s)he seems to me equal to gods that (wo)man

by starraya



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, title from sappho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 14:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15050705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starraya/pseuds/starraya
Summary: Fleur's eyes linger on Serena, before she shakes her head. "I still can't believe that you finally made it to the Isle of Lesbos. Ms Wolfe is one lucky woman."





	(s)he seems to me equal to gods that (wo)man

* * *

"So," Fleur says when they sit down at a table in the bar. "What did you think of Macbeth?" 

Serena wrinkles her nose. "Too much blood."

"You're a surgeon?"

"Exactly. I see enough of the stuff at work."

"Okay," Fleur's unscrews the bottle of wine they have brought to share between them, "what did you think of _Lady_  Macbeth?"

Serena rolls her eyes. She knows from Fleur's tone that she's not talking about Lady Macbeth's acting skills.

"I thought she was young enough to be my daughter." The phrase slips off Serena's tongue before she can think about it. Despite the June heat outside, it seems to pull the warmth out of the pub. 

Serena is thankful when Fleur doesn't ply her with "Oh, I'm so sorry" and other platitudes. Instead Fleur simply pours them a glass of wine each and then leans forward conspiratorially. "By the way, who was your first girl crush?" She lifts a hand as if to silence Serena prematurely. "And you can't say Bernie."

Serena purses her lips. "A girl never -"

"I know you went to an all girl's school, Ms Campbell. Spill."

"Well there was this one biology teacher -" 

Fleur chuckles. "Blonde?"

"Maybe." Serena smiles. "Oh, and I remember going to watch 9 to 5 at the pictures about three times in one week. Of course, I never realised why back then."

"Jane Fonda?" 

Serena sips her wine, before biting her lip. "All three?"

"Talking of hot blonde actresses, how far have you got through Last Tango?"

"I finished series two last night."

Fleur's smile falters. "Ah." 

"What?"

"Well, for some reason the BBC only aired two more episodes."

At Serena's puzzled look, Fleur just replies: "Don't ask."

"Okay," Serena mouths, amused by Fleur's elusiveness. 

Fleur's eyes linger on Serena, before she shakes her head. "I still can't believe that you finally made it to the isle of lesbos. Ms Wolfe is one lucky woman." 

"No more than I am. She's . . . she's perfect. I mean she never brushes her hair or tidies her desk, and trying to get her do her paperwork on time, good god . . . but she's wonderful with Jason and she knows when I need coffee even before I do -" 

"And she leaves a little note or a pastry on your desk in the middle of particularly stressful day to cheer you up." Fleur tilts her head to one side. "You may have mentioned it. A few times."

Serena shrugs, refusing to feel any embrassment. "She's the love of my life." 

"Must have been an . . . adventure, though." Fleur picks up utensils from the pot in the middle of the table. "Going from this." She holds up a knife and fork side by side. "To this." She changes the fork for another knife. 

Serena doesn't understand, that is until Fluer crosses the two knives as if to form a scissors, wiggles her eyebrows, and then holds the utensils in a different position, this time with one knife upside down against the other.

Serena nearly chokes on her wine.

"Oh, don't tell me." Fleur sounds disappointed. "You're both pillow princesses and you spend your night sipping tea and nibbling on custard creams." 

"Wait." Serena puts her glass back on the table. "What?"

"Doesn't sound very fulfilling." Fleur's eyes sparkle, waiting for Serena to take the bait.

"I can assure you, Berenice Wolfe is more than . . . filling."

 _My, my_ , Fleur's thinks. There's fire in Serena's words. And more than one euphemism. Filling. Something that is pleasantly satiating. Hunger-wise. Size-wise.

"Even though she swanned off to Ukraine for two months?"

"She made up for it." Serena arches an eyebrow. "She's quite the action woman." 

Fleur feels jealously, something that simmers inside her whenever Serena rambles about the magnificent virtues and foibles of the great Berenice Wolfe, spark into a red hot flame. 

Serena pours herself another glass of wine. Fleur knows, from experience, that it only acts as fuel to Serena's effusive praise of her girlfriend. And now Fleur's removed the PG filter. 

Opps.

-

Fleur tries to keep an extremely drunk Serena upright during the small distance from the pavement to her door. 

It's not easy.

Even before the taxi drives away, Serena had started to wax lyrical. Again. She is points at the stars in the sky. "Coma Berenices." Her words are loud and slurred. "I can't always see her, but . . . when I need her. I know she's there. Waiting for me." 

"Come on, Shakespeare," Fleur takes Serena's keys out of her hand. "Let's get you to bed."

Never once, in her wildest dreams, had Fleur imagined saying those five words to Serena Canpebell in the context of guiding a staggering, love-sick Serena to her own front door. No, wait. Fleur listens as Serena recites poetry. A staggering, love-sick Serena who fancies she's auditioning for stage school.

". . . an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. It is the star to every . . . _fuck_." Serena curses, tripping over her front step and into her house. 

-

The next morning, Serena stirs from sleep, blinks, and buries her head back underneath her duvet. Her head is pounding. Her throat feels like an ashtray. And she's sure she will never be able to look Fleur Fanshawe in the eye again.

She vows to avoid Fleur for as long as possible and at all costs. 

It works until the day Bernie surprises her with a visit. 

-

"I'd cut her some slack if I were you," Fleur advises Bernie, before heading back inside the hospital. She couldn't help but notice a slight bit of tension between Bernie and Serena. Some trouble in paradise. After spotting Bernie smoking a cigarette outside, Fleur couldn't resist talking to the legendary Bernie Wolfe. Hearing her own words, inside of Serena's - although Fleur reckons she herself could write a bestselling biography on the Werewolf. 

"I'll cut _you_ some slack." Fleur hears Bernie's warning, smiles to herself. Fleur knows that Berenice - I was in the army, you know, and I know thirteen ways to kill you with my bare hands - Wolfe cried, from happiness, after after she and Serena had sex for the first time.

-

Serena's nearly forgotten her drunken display the night her and Fleur went to see Macbeth. There's better things on her mind. Like wringing every ounce of pleasure from the 48 hours she and Bernie have left. However, when she brings the car round to collect Bernie she finds Fleur standing beside her.

"Isn't she a star?" Fleur says to Bernie when she sees Serena's chilvary. "But, then again," Fleur looks straight at Serena and winks, "I suppose you both are."

Fleur swaggers off, leaving Bernie very confused. She forgets Fleur's words soon enough, though, smiling brightly as she gets into Serena's car, at the thought of having two whole days with the woman she adores. 

-

Later, when Bernie texts Serena that she has safely landed back in Nairobi, she scrolls back up through their texts. 

There is one in particular that makes her heart leap with love.

It was sent from Serena, 1.52 AM her time.

 _I_   _moss youu_. 

The three words were accompanied by eight star emojis, a chocolate bar emoji, a love heart emoji and three cat emojis.

When she saw Serena's text the next morning, Bernie laughed until her ribs hurt and replied:

 _Campbell, are you drunk?_ _#LOL_. # _Wish I could have been there.#Don't forget paracetamol_

That day Bernie booked a plane ticket to England.


End file.
